


I'll dedicate silence to you

by shanimalew



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, M/M, POV Crowley (Good Omens), Pining, Unrequited Love, silent mutual pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:41:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23139403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shanimalew/pseuds/shanimalew
Summary: Sometimes actions don't speak louder than words, and sometimes words are not enough either.What to do when your love is so big and loud but the other person isn't aware of it?“You go too fast for me, Crowley” he says, mocking Aziraphale’s voice. “What the bloody hell does that even mean? Eh? Too fast?! I’ve been on cruise speed for millennia! Even slower! Bloody turtles go faster than me”
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 56





	I'll dedicate silence to you

**Author's Note:**

> As most of my stories this one is too inspired by a song. I suggest listening to it, it's really good, even though it's in Italian. It's called Ti dedico il silenzio by [Ultimo](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iAEPBGJbavo)

He doesn’t know where he’s going, he just knows the Bentley is moving beneath him and that it is taking him as far away from Soho as possible.

The radio is playing some hard rock song he’s never heard of before and he’s so grateful that even the Bentley tonight is not in the mood for Beatles. Hell knows how cheese they can be sometimes, and Crowley definitely doesn’t need cheesy love songs tonight.

He stays silent the whole trip, eyes hard and mind clouded. He opens his mouth only when he sees the sign showing he’s out of London.

“Fuck” he starts, the word barely a murmur. Then it’s only a crescendo.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck! You bloody bastard! Selfish, stupid bastard!” he screams, each word accompanied by a punch on the steering wheel.

At some point he also starts punching the horn, but he doesn’t notice… or care.

“You go too fast for me, Crowley” he says, mocking Aziraphale’s voice. “What the bloody hell does that even mean? Eh? Too fast?! I’ve been on cruise speed for millennia! Even slower! Bloody turtles go faster than me”

“Stupid...stupid angel! I’ve never asked anything to him, ever, always waltzing in at the right time to help his stupid ass from being discorporated, and one time I ask something what does he do? He says I’m asking too much, me! And then he comes, uninvited, one hundred and five years later and says I’m the one going too fast? Is he for real?” he asks to the car, but the only answer he receives is a change of song.

Beatles’ Let it be starts playing. He rolls his eyes.

“Very funny, hilarious even” he says sarcastically.

“Slow down, dickhead!” a driver shouts, as he passes him. 

Bored, he looks at the dashboard, shrugging at the high speed. Humans love to exaggerate.

Unless…

He abruptly stops the car, ignoring the insults and the sound of brakes coming from the other cars.

“Do you think he meant it literally?” he asks the car. “Nah, it can’t be. He looked too wrecked to mean it literally. Nobody looks like that when talking about lifts.” he answers immediately, not leaving space for other opinions. Not that the car can actually express one. 

Sighing, he starts the car up again and continues his mindless drive.

“Plus, how many times did I give him a lift? Once, after the church bombing. So he can’t really judge my driving from one lift. It was the war, also, let’s not forget! Bombs were falling from the sky, no one sane would drive, or go out really, so he should really thank me that I brought him home safe and sound! Ungrateful bastard, next time I’m going to leave him alone with nazis!”

“Oh” he continues, frustration leaking from every molecule of his body “I could’ve got myself the holy water, it was right there! So much unguarded holy water! I could kill hordes of demons with that quantity but did I take it? Of course not, because I had to save his ungrateful ass so that he could waltz into my life twenty years later making me look like the crazy one and him the gentle knight in a shiny armour ready to save me. I don’t buy it! I am the knight in the shiny armour, not him! I am the one who saved myself, over and over, not him! I escaped prisons, death sentences and fucking tortures, all by myself! And where was he? Performing stupid angelic miracles and eating bloody crepes!”

A sudden movement in the passenger seat reminds him of the holy water, sitting without a belt next to him. It could fall any moment, destroying Crowley and his beloved car in an instant.

He makes an abrupt turn, changing lane and going back to London. He needs to deposit his insurance somewhere safe...and far from his body.

“Why does he always have to make things difficult?” he murmurs after a while, exhaling a shaky breath.

_Why did I have to fall in love with an angel_ is the unspoken question, hidden in his not at all wet eyes and sad sighs.

He reaches his apartment in record time, feeling suddenly very tired. His limbs weight like iron as he grabs the thermos, careful to keep it at a safe distance. He walks into his apartment, opens his safe and slowly deposits the thermos there.

As soon as the safe is closed he lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

He throws himself onto his giant bed, eyes too heavy to be kept open a minute longer.

He sleeps for a decade, just cause he can.

And because he has no reason not to.

  
  


_“Even if this all ends up in a puddle of burning goo we can go off together” he says, hoping that this time Aziraphale will not reject him, not when everything’s falling apart around them._

_But he should know better than hope._

_He’s a demon after all…_

_“There’s no our side, Crowley. Not anymore. It’s over”_

Crowley replays the scene in his mind over and over again as he walks towards his Bentley and then inside the car, and even in his flat while looking at possible destinations to run away to. But nothing seems right, not if Aziraphale is not with him.

_Why must it hurt this bad?_

_Why him?_

So he prays to God, for the first time in millennia, asking for a sign. To stop this madness and find a new, less violent, way of making everyone understand: angels, demons and humans. He prays for an answer, a way of stopping everything. Even stop his heart from aching for a stupid, kind angel, if she has some spare time. 

He prays that Aziraphale says yes, for once.

He isn’t mad, not anymore, and maybe never was, for the countless rejections he suffered. For the nasty words the angel said about them and their relationship. 

He knows Aziraphale is scared, both of the implications of their relationship and of abandoning his beliefs. He knows what it feels like to see your world change drastically, or better, see the earth swallow you up and finding yourself in a bath of boiling sulfur that eats you alive, leaving nothing but a shell of what you were before.

He knows this and he understands the angel’s fears, truly.

But still, he prays that Aziraphale chooses him, just once. The only time where it really matters.

_“Angel, I’m sorry I apologise. Whatever I said I didn’t mean it. Work with me, I’m apologising. Yes? Good, get in the car”_

_“What? No!”_

_“We can run away together. Alpha Centauri. Lots of spare planets up there, nobody would even notice us” he tries, again, hoping that this time by having a plan...sort of...more like having a location, Aziraphale would at least consider it._

_But as Aziraphale goes on about talking to God and having her stop everything he realizes that hope is the most dangerous weapon a person has, and Crowley has just crucified himself with it._

_He will never compete with God, Heaven, angels. He’s just a demon, not even one of the powerful ones._

_“I’m going home, angel. I’m getting my stuff and I’m leaving. And when I’m off in the stars I won’t even think about you!” he lies._

He swears and shouts and punches the steering wheel, as his loyal Bentley takes him home, or better to the battlefield. He doesn’t want to run away and he especially doesn’t want to fight Hastur and Ligur but now his mind can’t see any other choice, going straight into survival mode.

He hates it. He’s not built to survive, to struggle, but to live in peace and calm. He’s a snake for fuck’s sake! He’s meant to eat things and enjoy the sun, not fight for his life!

But, anyhow, he does what he must to survive: he kills Ligur without any hesitation, thanking the humans for the invention of sunglasses. Nothing could have prepared him to the sight of a demon melting into nothing at the touch of less than a pint of holy water. 

_That could have been me_ , he thinks, eyes wide.

As soon as he manages to get rid of Hastur, and it’s not a small task, he races to his car heading to the bookshop, again.

Ignoring his heart beating like crazy at the idea of seeing Aziraphale again and especially ignoring the awful taste in his mouth due to his pride being wounded over and over, he rushes into the well-known streets of London ready to convince Aziraphale for the third time.

_Maybe third time’s the charm_ , he thinks to himself. Maybe the angel will finally understand that his plan is ridiculous and that the only solution to save himself is run away with Crowley. Maybe.

He doesn’t really worry when Aziraphale doesn’t answer his phone, maybe the angel is still busy trying to contact God and who else. However, he starts to worry when he sees firemen around the bookshop. Or better, what was the shop, since high flames are wrapped around it, making the entire area unbreathable.

He tries to enter the building with nonchalance, but fails, anxiety creeping in his thoughts.

He searches in the flames, he screams for the angel but no answer. No sound, apart from that of his knees, falling, and of his heart, breaking.

“Somebody killed my best friend!” he screams to the flames, desperate “Bastards! All of you!”

The flames flicker a bit, for fear or understanding nobody knows.

Crowley takes a book from the floor, maybe the only survivor of the flames, gets out of the shop and drives away towards the nearest bar.

He’s not really conscious of his movements, it’s like he has put on the autopilot, which is more dangerous than survival mode. Because while the survival mode made him vigilant, ready and willing to fight, this one just allows him to do what he does best; which is driving and drinking, a lot.

And that’s what he does: he drinks and talks to himself about every single thing that went wrong in his existence and he orders more alcohol. 

He doesn’t feel anything, really, not even the nice buzz that being drunk brings. Nothing.

The world is on his last hours and Crowley is out of ideas, and will...mostly will. It feels like the fire has sucked the life out of him, leaving a pitiful, drunk body.

He’s not a fighter, never was and never will, even when the Great War will start and demons and angels will fight each other to death. He’s going to hide away, with as much wine and whiskey and gin and everything alcoholic and he’s going to drink the war away, until everything will end and there will no more be a place to hide.

And then...well, he’s a demon and a traitor so he guesses his end will also come. 

He’s mildly surprised when the thought of his death doesn’t shock him as much, but to be completely honest, his life ended the moment he saw the burned bookshop.

He feels pathetic, putting his life in the hands of an angel who repeatedly told him they were nothing, whose blind faith was directed at everyone but Crowley.

Why did he have to believe that the angels would listen to him? Or care about what he had to say?

Why couldn’t he believe Crowley, ever?

Why did he put his life in the hands of those who didn’t love him, not as Crowley loves him?

Why, why, why…

_Why did you leave me?_

He is ready to drink the bottle number...three? four?, hoping to wash away with it his last few coherent thoughts when Aziraphale appears.

“Aziraphale” he murmurs, like a prayer.

Maybe it’s just a hallucination. Maybe he’s finally going crazy.

But fortunately that’s, not yet, the case. The ghost in front of him is his Aziraphale, alive and well, just discorporated. 

Lazarus himself didn’t come back from the dead as fast as Crowley did at the mere sight of Aziraphale.

He’d feel pathetic if he weren’t so happy to see his angel.

“Did you go to Alpha Centauri?” Aziraphale asks.

Crowley keeps himself from laughing.

_Stupid angel._

“Nah, I changed my mind. Stuff happened” he says, then feeling braver than he ever felt in the last 6 millennia adds, “I lost my best friend”.

He hates how his voice breaks at the end, making him look vulnerable and exposed.

Fortunately, Aziraphale goes directly into business mode and doesn’t address Crowley’s out of character behaviour, much to Crowley’s joy.

He’s already all over the place, emotionally speaking, with Aziraphale’s not-death, the imminent Armageddon and the huge amount of alcohol ingested, so having a conversation about his feelings is not really the best. Not if he wants to preserve the remains of his dignity.

So he listens closely to what Aziraphale’s wants him to do and obeys.

  
  
_“You can stay at my place, if you like” Crowley murmurs, unconsciously holding his breath._

_“I don’t think my side would like that”_

_“You don’t have a side anymore. Neither of us do. We’re on our own side” he reminds Aziraphale._

_The angel’s eyes fall with realization, and fear._

_Crowley wants to reassure him, tell him that everything’s going to be okay, but he can’t, not when he feels his core shake too._

_After all, they’ve stopped the Armageddon but they still need to face their bosses, which is somehow far worse._

Crowley is surprised when Aziraphale sits next to him on the bus. It makes something bloom inside him, something warm and hopeful…

And he immediately pushes it down, turning his face towards the window to avoid meeting Aziraphale’s gaze.

He doesn’t realize that his leg is bouncing fast until he feels Aziraphale’s hand on his leg, stopping his movements. And if he also stopped Crowley’s heart with that gesture it’s nobody’s business…

“Dear boy, you can relax. We’re safe, for now” Aziraphale says sweetly, hand gently squeezing Crowley’s leg. “Why don’t you rest for a while? You outdid yourself today”

“We’re far from safe, angel” he says, briefly looking at Aziraphale, then he turns again to the window.

Aziraphale doesn’t immediately take his hand off the leg, and it drives the demon crazy. He counts every second. After what felt like ages, but in reality are just thirty seconds, Aziraphale sighs and lifts his hand.

They walk towards Crowley’s apartment in silence, interrupted only when they reach the throne room.

“What is this?” Aziraphale asks, indicating the dirty coat on the floor.

“Ligur” he says, trying to avoid the demon’s remains.

“Oh” is what Aziraphale says, before miracling all that away “Wouldn’t want you to step on that dear” he adds, looking at Crowley.

“I think I have some tea in the kitchen. I can make some while we think of a way to survive. Alpha Centauri is still on the table, by the way”

Aziraphale doesn’t say anything at his comment, just looks at him with judgmental eyes.

“I think the answer is in the last of Agnes prophecies” Aziraphale says, ignoring Crowley’s words and following him into the kitchen.

As Crowley makes tea, Aziraphale talks about his theories and possible interpretations of the prophecy. It is at the same time weird and domestic, seeing Aziraphale in his kitchen, as if he belonged there, next to Crowley, talking about everything and nothing while the demon prepares drinks or cooks.

It’s a nice image, maybe too nice, as Crowley’s heart starts beating faster, mind already imagining scenes of domestic life together. 

He tries to focus on Aziraphale’s words and on the imminent danger they’re facing, burying his thoughts deep inside, closing an imaginary door on them and coming back to reality.

“Crowley, you’re exhausted, why don’t you try to sleep for a couple of hours? I can work on this alone”

Crowley puts the two cups of tea on the table, scoffing.

“Don’t be stupid, I’ll sleep when everything’s over. Now let me read the prophecy again” he says, trying to give Aziraphale his most convincing smile.

And if both of them know how fake and not at all convincing that smile is, well, nobody addresses it. Too scared of being brutally destroyed to really focus on feelings.

  
  


_“I like to think that none of this would have worked out if you weren’t, at heart, just a little bit, a good person”_

_“And if you weren’t, deep down, just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing” Crowley replies, admiring Aziraphale’s satisfied face. “Cheers. To the world” he adds, finally feeling all the tension leaving his body._

_“To the world” replies Aziraphale, with a smile that could blind the entire city of London._

They survived.

He honestly didn’t think they could make it. 

Maybe if they went with his plan to run away to Alpha Centauri, surely not with Aziraphale’s crazy idea of saving the world and helping the humans.

But they survived the Armageddon, Satan himself, and their bosses. Even that plan seemed too imaginative to work and Crowley wanted nothing more than spend his last hours on Earth with Aziraphale, looking at him and maybe, just maybe, finally telling him his feelings. But the angel had other plans, as usual, and he couldn’t not follow him. As usual. 

So they did it. They fooled everyone and finally obtained the freedom and peace they always deserved.

Crowley still has some problems coming to terms with it.

_Freedom_

No more obligations towards Hell, no more fear of destruction for his friendship with an angel. No more Hell, period. 

He’s free to do everything he wants, which can mean going on on his usual business but also not to. He can stop altogether to tempt humans and create chaos and no one would notice.

He feels a tremble pass through him. An excited one.

The prospect of pure and utter freedom both excites and paralyses Crowley.

He can do everything he wants. Everything. 

However, the only thing he wanted the most was not to be associated with Hell anymore.

So, what now?

He has always been proud of the fact that he understood humans as if he were one of them. He understood their desires, their need to please an absent and ungrateful parent and show the world that they are more than what some label says.

Are they always feeling this excited and anxious at the vastness of the possibilities in front of them?

Is this fear what means to be really human?

Then this adds a whole other layer of respect for them. 

He’s had this ‘freedom’ for less than a day and he’s already so overwhelmed he feels his heart missing beats and a lump forming in his throat every time he thinks about it.

“Are you alright, dear? You seem a bit...off” Aziraphale asks him, getting closer to Crowley. He puts his hand on Crowley’s, looking at him with a concentrated face that makes Crowley squirm. 

Unable to bear the weight of the angel’s gaze, Crowley looks away, using the hand under Aziraphale’s to awkwardly scratch his neck.

“Nothing angel, just tired. It’s been a couple of eventful days”

Aziraphale just nods, understanding, and continues eating.

Crowley suddenly realises that an outcome of this freedom is also the possibility of seeing Aziraphale as many times as he wants to without the need to create work arrangements or finding weird, obscure places where to meet him without being visible. He could easily grab his hand while strolling in St.James’ park and hold it for the whole time and nobody would care.

This last thought thrills him so much that has to look away from Aziraphale’s radiant face. He makes eye contact with the waiter and, with a small gesture, orders more wine.

However, no matter how much his mind wants to think of something else, as soon as the waiter puts the wine on the table, his mind starts thinking about Aziraphale again.

How nice it would be to just take his hand and draw mindless circles with his thumb. To get closer to him and whisper in his ear, what doesn’t matter, just whisper, and then seeing him trying not to laugh too loud.

He daydreams of kissing away the cream at the corner of the angel's mouth and see the embarrassed face he will make, looking around to see if anyone saw them, as if they’re still in the 1800s and any form of contact in public is deemed disgraceful. 

He dreams of openly looking at him, and when Aziraphale will ask him why he's staring, he'll just say 'You're beautiful'. And he'll be smug about it as if it wasn't something monumental to say out loud, as if it was ordinary for them to compliment each other.

And as he's dreaming about what he might do and as he's watching Aziraphale happily eat the last piece of his dessert, he realises that nothing really stops him now from making his dreams reality. Him, and especially Aziraphale, have no more obligations towards their bosses.

Aziraphale briefly looks at him from behind his eyelashes and smiles lovingly as he meets Crowley' gaze. 

For a moment, Crowley thinks he has a chance. Maybe Aziraphale does love him as much as he loves the angel. And maybe he also wants to hold him, to kiss him.

Maybe…

He shakes his head, shifting his gaze to the dessert in front of him.

Better not to focus too much on him and Aziraphale’s relationship, it will only get his hopes up, until they’re crushed, for the umpteenth time. And he knows for a fact that if that happens, this time he will not recover as easily.

Because this time if Aziraphale rejects him, it's not because Heaven would find out or because it's too dangerous, but because he, really, doesn't feel the same.

And what does this freedom mean if Aziraphale won't be at his side to celebrate it? What life will be like without their stupid arguments and meaningless discussions? 

Better being a servant of Hell for the rest of eternity than spend eternity alone on Earth.

So he forgets about the possibility of confessing and about Aziraphale's impossible reciprocation.

And when the angel asks again what is he thinking about, he says nothing. Again. And pushes the dessert towards him.

"I was thinking that I'm not that hungry anymore, so have my dessert" 

And Aziraphale laughs, happily accepting the dessert and he soon forgets about Crowley's strange expression.

He continues to eat and talk as if nothing has changed. And indeed it has not, at least not between them.

Crowley swallows down the remains of the sadness that washed over him and smiles slightly, nodding at Aziraphale’s discourse.

And when they make a toast to the world he will look at Aziraphale’s genuine happiness and he will smile a bit wider, believing it. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Hope you enjoyed the story!  
> You can follow me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/shanimalew) and [Tumblr](https://shanimalew.tumblr.com/) so we can cry about these two idiots together.


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